The Adventure of the Historical Doppelgangers
by Juliana Brandagamba
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes woke up in an entirely different bed to the one he had fallen asleep in, it did not take him long to deduce that he had gone back in time.
1. Chapter 1

**This story features both the Victorian and modern incarnations of our friends, and, unlike my other Sherlock/Sherlock Holmes crossover _The Time Capsule_ , features actual time travel. (Not sure how that would work, but what the hell, it makes for a good story.) This idea is one I have contemplated for a long time, but I was persuaded to get on with writing it by KathyG, without whose prompting it may never have existed - so thank you, KathyG. :) Anyway, on with the story!**

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When Sherlock Holmes woke up in an entirely different bed to the one he had fallen asleep in, it did not take him long to deduce that he had gone back in time.

Anyone else, I suppose, might have panicked and fled out of the door, wondering where they were and what they were doing there, and it would not have been until they looked outside and saw the gas lamps and carriages in the street that they realised that it was the 19th century, rather than the 21st, as they had at first thought, indeed hoped, on opening their eyes that morning.

Sherlock Holmes is not anyone else, of course, and he made a point of deducing things before breakfast, and so his thought-process went something like this: _not my bed, but the same room – it's the same orientation, and the same size and shape, and it even has the same ceiling. Not my bed, however. Nor are these my belongings that are strewn all over the floor, although that's what I tend to do with my belongings too. Chemistry-set – old-fashioned. Very. Pictures –distasteful, have been repeatedly put back on the walls after being taken down – or torn down in disgust. Not my bed. Lumpy. Odd sort of mattress. Eiderdown duvet. Counterpane – who the hell uses a counterpane? Ah, but of course. This is 221B Baker Street in the 19_ _th_ _century._

Even he was just a little surprised by this conclusion. After all, it wasn't what he had expected to wake up to when he fell asleep the previous night.

He went through to the kitchen, noted with mild interest that it wasn't where he usually kept it, and after a moment's hesitation put the kettle on the stove to boil up some water for tea. He didn't usually make his own tea but he couldn't count on Mrs Hudson having been brought back in time with him. The kettle began to whistle stridently, and he had to resist the urge to shoot it. (Though judging by the dents in the metal, someone else hadn't been able to resist that urge.)

A short while later the kettle had boiled, Sherlock had attempted to make tea, and the detective was now sitting in an armchair that wasn't his own sipping from a mug of some horrible-tasting liquid with bits in it.

Of all the things that could have happened next, he perhaps didn't expect the door to open and Mrs Hudson to come in.

She was at once Mrs Hudson and not Mrs Hudson. That flyaway hair had been tamed and stuffed beneath a tasteless, shapeless bonnet-type thing. Her apron had been replaced by a long grey dress. The image was nothing if not strongly Victorian. Sherlock greatly suspected that she was in fact Victorian, and not the Mrs Hudson that he knew, even if she was still Mrs Hudson.

Did that even make sense? He hoped so.

'Ah, sorry,' he said, finishing the horrible-tasting liquid and leaving the bits. 'I seem to have travelled back in time and stolen your tea. I won't be here long. I just need to find a way to get back. I don't suppose you have any clothes I can borrow?' He indicated the pyjamas he was wearing.

Mrs Hudson just stared.

'Mr Holmes never mentioned a twin,' she said at last.

'Mr Holmes?' Sherlock asked naïvely; then, without waiting for an answer, he continued: 'Oh, I suppose I've got a Victorian double too. I presume Mr Holmes's name is Sherlock?'

Mrs Hudson nodded, by now utterly confused.

'I'm Sherlock Holmes from the 21st century. It's very nice to meet you. Clothes?'

'Clothes,' repeated Mrs Hudson vaguely, and, like an automaton, padded towards the bedroom that Sherlock had just left and returned with the pieces of what Sherlock guessed to be a third-best suit.

'You might be able to borrow these,' she said, handing them to him. 'Mr Holmes is away at the moment, in Devonshire, so I don't think he'll miss them for the moment.'

Sherlock nodded and went to change into the clothes. He emerged from the bedroom a minute later and admired himself in the mirror.

'It seems I have excellent dress-sense,' he complimented himself with a smile. 'I suppose John – Dr Watson? – has a double too?'

'Dr Watson's in Devonshire as well,' Mrs Hudson told him. She had decided just to play along, rather than spend the entire time staring at him in confusion. She was still convinced that this was a slightly mad twin brother of the detective she knew and liked. Perhaps he had escaped from some lunatic asylum somewhere.

Just then the ceiling creaked, and as one Mrs Hudson and Sherlock looked up. Another creak. Like someone walking around upstairs. But if Dr Watson and Mr Holmes, as Mrs Hudson called them, were out, then who –

Judging by the surprise on Mrs Hudson's face, Sherlock guessed that nobody else lived here. Judging by the creaking, there was definitely a person upstairs. He listened to the noise for a moment more, suddenly recognised it, and, just as he was about to announce his conclusion, John came running downstairs in his pyjamas yelling something about gas lamps.


	2. Chapter 2

**I must here apologise for taking ages in updating this story. I also have to admit to not knowing where it's going. It's just a bit of fun that I hope you enjoy. :)**

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It took two cups of tea and a lot of attempts as reassurance from Sherlock before John's speech became fully comprehensible. He far more than Sherlock could not believe what had happened – that they had somehow travelled in time overnight, and not only that, but Mrs Hudson existed in the Victorian times as well as in the modern era. About half an hour later they were both in the armchairs that their "past selves" usually occupied, with Mrs Hudson sitting across from them on a stool she had drawn up, and it was almost like normal, except for the clattering of hooves down the street outside, and the smell of pipe-smoke that seemed to fill the room.

'When did you say Dr Watson and Mr Holmes would return?' asked Sherlock at length, referring to their doubles by these names so the others wouldn't get confused (he had a very low opinion of the brains of everyone, including his friends).

'Ooh, they said today at the latest,' Mrs Hudson told him.

'This will be interesting,' Sherlock commented with a grin. 'I've always wanted to meet myself.'

It was this sort of comment that made John's head begin to spin, and Sherlock, noticing this, changed the subject. 'I might take a walk in London later, take a look at everything.'

'You're not usually a sightseeing person,' John said in surprise.

'Sightseeing? Hardly,' Sherlock said. 'Victorian cases, if I can find any, will be a good change from –' He stopped abruptly. 'I think Holmes and Watson are home.'

Both John and Mrs Hudson blinked: they had heard the cab coming up the street, and stopping a short way down from the house, but neither of them could have said with confidence who was in it.

'How do you know?' asked John.

'I can hear their voices,' Sherlock said vaguely, with a glance towards the window: two clatters indicated two men jumping from the cab, and the voices that floated up towards the window of 221B seemed to be getting closer. One of the approaching people spoke in an RP English voice that was, if anything, more clipped than Sherlock's, and the other had a somewhat more down-to-earth accent that, though it didn't sound a lot like John's, it was at the same time somehow identifiable as his double's.

They came to the door to the house: and Mrs Hudson at once jumped up, saying that she had better prepare them for the sight of their doubles sitting in the lounge and wearing their clothes. Therefore she scurried off downstairs, and, after a brief conversation, the 19th-century Baker Street gang came upstairs.

On seeing their doppelgangers, they both froze. After a moment, Holmes clapped his hands in childish delight and went to shake hands with Sherlock, whilst Dr Watson continued to stand in the doorway and look baffled.

More tea was of course required, and eventually they all got over the initial shock. There weren't enough armchairs and so they drew up chairs from the kitchen around the fire, and sat staring at each other for a bit before a topic for conversation was found. Sherlock threw in some comment about the physics of time travel, and Holmes contributed a little to this, drawing from his (admittedly limited) knowledge of science, which, as it was the 19th century, was only a bit skewed. John and Dr Watson just sort of stared at each other for a bit until they were absorbed into the general conversation. It was quite the most bizarre conversation that either of them had ever had (and in truth they had both had some pretty weird conversations in the past).

'I have a box on Saturday for a premiere of a new work,' Holmes was saying. 'If you are here a while, you might like to accompany me.'

Sherlock's eyes flashed around the room; then, looking a little startled despite himself, he said, 'It isn't Saint-Saens's third, by any chance?'

'The third symphony by Camille Saint-Saens; indeed,' Holmes replied. 'Oh! I suppose you already know what it sounds like.'

'I'd like to hear its English premiere though,' said Sherlock, who was grinning.

'Saint-Saens,' murmured John. 'Is he the _Carnival of the Animals_ guy?'

He didn't know a good deal about classical music, and nor was he particularly interested in it, but the name at least was fairly well-known.

'Yes,' said Sherlock. Holmes looked baffled. 'Well,' Sherlock considered. ' _Carnival_ wasn't published until after the composer's death... You've got that to look forward to.'

'This is making my head spin,' said John. He swallowed another mouthful of tea, which seemed to improve matters a little.

A few minutes later, it so happened that the Sherlock Holmeses decided to take a walk in the city, and "look for crime" as they called it. The excitement that flickered on both faces – which were at once bizarrely similar and yet distinctively different – made John wonder if they were going to act like children all day. He commented as much to Watson, who said that his Holmes had never really passed the age of ten. John found himself admitting that the same could be said of Sherlock.

Nevertheless, all four of them set out that very minute, placing their hats on their heads and saying farewell to Mrs Hudson before stepping onto the bustling street outside and breathing in the heady air of Victorian London.


End file.
